Ferb the Kishin
by Velvet-Clad
Summary: Fearing that Ferb could become—or already is—a kishin, Baljeet gets him re-enrolled at the DWMA. Ferb isn't accepted well, however, and as Isabella and Buford continue to hound him, it becomes clearer that he hasn't told the whole truth about the night of Phineas' death.


A tall, lean, teenage boy was leaning up against the corner of a building, watching people pass by with dark brown eyes and a long, almost angular face. He had darker skin, and his facial features proclaimed him to be Bengali. His short, black hair wriggled in small waves over his head before bunching up in indistinct curls on his forehead. He hugged his arms, fending off the night's chill that his plain white T-shirt did little to defend him against. His friend was holding the denim jacket that matched the indian's blue jeans.

"How do we find him if he is mixed into the crowd like this?" the boy said, a slight accent mixed in with his smooth voice.

"Eh," his muscular friend replied in a gravelly voice as he shrugged dismissively. "You can sense souls; I'm not worried 'bout it."

The pale friend wasn't as tall as his darker companion, but he more than made up for the missing inch with muscle. His shoulders were broad and heavy, his arms thick from years of pumping iron. His thick neck supported his square, heavily masculine head, which was topped with chocolate-brown hair glued up in a short mohawk. He leaned against the wall to his companion's left, his arms crossed, the denim jacket over his arm partially obscuring the gray, jawless skull on his lose, black shirt.

The bengali continued to survey the river of people that passed by, trying to pick the kishin out of the bunch. It had already been a number of hours that the two had been standing around. Though the indian teen was getting worried that they had missed their target, his american friend didn't seem to mind at all. The bengali was just going to say something about leaving when he felt a familiar sensation tugging at the inside of his skull, just over and behind his left ear. He left the wall and took his jacket, his pale friend following without question.

A half-spider, half-man was running across rooftops on its eight, mangled legs. It's tangled mane of blond and brown hair shuttered as it landed on each new rooftop, and its mostly human torso leaned heavily forward into the wind. It stopped and looked into the distance, were a tall, thin young man held a long and heavy-looking war hammer on his shoulder. The bengali glared at the kishin, shifting the weight of his weapon on his shoulder. The head of the hammer was very much like a massive, iron brick, but slightly curved spikes protruded from the edges, posed to stab and cut anything it didn't crush or smash. The long handle was plated with sharp, metallic scales and tipped with a lethal spike. The kishin leaned away from the weapon and meister, but kept its feet firmly planted where they were.

"What are ya waitin' for, nerd?" the war hammer voiced. "Go get 'im!"

The bengali rushed forward, holding the hammer off to the side as he sprinted towards the next roof. Only as the teen leaped into the air and lifted the brutal weapon over his head did the man-spider turn around to run. The head of the hammer slammed down into the concrete, instantly creating a creator three feet in diameter and covering up the sound of the teen's landing. As his feet met the roof, the meister turned after the spider and lifted the giant war hammer out of the building with almost no effort. He was again sprinting before the kishin had jumped to the next building.

The kishin pushed forward as fast as it could, leaping from building to building almost faster than the meister. It jumped onto the back side of a billboard and turned to taunt its pursuer. Its eyes widened when it saw the meister flying through the air and towards it, the hammer coming down at it. It jumped away at the very last moment, escaping only with a crushed hind foot. The teen shoved off of the crushed billboard, just behind the massive homo-arachnid.

The kishin landed facing sideways just before the meister, its gnarled claws slipping over the smooth tiles around a decadent pool. Several women around it shrieked, but the creature hardly had a foothold when the massive hammer smashed through its body with a thick crunch. The bengali stood tall and pulled his weapon out of the gore with ease, the body lifting slightly, stuck to the spikes. The girls in the heavily lit and warmed pool stared as the body convulsed and turned into a mass of rushing black ribbons. The american again assumed his human form and many of the women looked at him, intrigued, attracted, or both.

"That was easier than I thought," the american said.

"It usually is," his companion replied as the black fabric gave way to a hovering red orb. The surface looked dry, and large, dark red, scab-like spots covered most of it. The red vapor lifting up off of it flexed as the american took it in his large hand. "You underestimate me, Buford," the bengali stated.

"Nah," Buford replied, lifting the kishin soul above his head. "You just get really fancy sometimes." He dropped the soul into his mouth and began chewing noisily. The bengali shivered and closed his eyes, disgusted.

"How do you manage to eat those?"

"They're not that bad!" Buford replied in his harsh voice. He held up his hand in the universal symbol for "small" and said, "A little salt, a little garlic-" His companion stopped listening then, choosing to turn and face the women.

"We are sorry for disturbing your night," he said politely to them.

"Hey, no problem," one of the women called.

"Why don't you tell us your names?" another said, leaning forward and out of the pool.

"I am Baljeet," the meister said before gesturing to Buford. "This is my friend-"

"-Companion-"

"-Buford."

"You guys wanna hang out awhile?" yet another women offered. Buford perked up, but Baljeet spoke before he could.

"We actually need to get back home," he said modestly. Buford frowned and smacked him on the back of his head while the girls groaned. Baljeet took the moment of abuse with a bored look on his face. Shortly after, the friends were walking down the sidewalk.

"I don't see why we couldn't stay," Buford said, Baljeet's jacket again in the bully's possession.

"We need to get back to Professor Stein soon," Baljeet replied.

"That'a always your excuse. I just think you don't want to share me."

"Do I have to tell you how fruity that sounds?" Baljeet said incredulously, turning to Buford. He was replied with the brute quickly grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him close enough that their noses touched.

"What did you say to me, nerd?" the weapon demanded. Baljeet sighed and lolled his head to the side, boredly looking away.

"Nothing." Satisfied, Buford let go and they continued to walk.


End file.
